


Queen's Unwilling; King Ain't.

by starrelia



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Cisgender, Horror, Kidnapping, M/M, implied gore, implied horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6738934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrelia/pseuds/starrelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rhys gets out of this asylum, meant to torture and not help, he's going to expose Hyperion and Assquez for all of this. He's going to bring up the story about Jack -- now the 'Handsome King' -- to the world and he's going to get something out of it. Anything.</p><p>Because he's been in this hellhole of an asylum for too long, and there is nothing that's going to keep him from getting out of here; away from all these poor tortured people, away from all the actual mass murderers, and away from the blood and corpses that line the corridor. He's getting out of here, and that's that.</p><p>[But the King doesn't want that.]</p><p>--</p><p>Outlast AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen's Unwilling; King Ain't.

Perhaps he’s gotten far too used to the dingy walls and the blood-stained corridors that seem to make up this entire place. Perhaps he’s gotten far too damn used to the corpses that litter the ground; skin on the face missing and eyes popped out like some sort of grotesque doll. _‘Here comes the King,’_ Rhys thinks to himself bitterly and he presses past another room, _‘and here comes the murder and slaughter that follows.’_

He doesn’t really know how long he’s been wandering mindlessly in the damn asylum, trying to find some sort of way out. Decrepit, falling apart—this entire place is a nightmare of age and neglect, and Rhys blames it wholly on Vasquez. Or, well, not _entirely_ on Vasquez but the man does take most of the blame for this.

Rhys flicks his cybernetic hand, light beaming from the small circle in his palm and he uses it to illuminate his way while his ECHOeye records everything. His eyes dart around the entire place, trying to document each and every body strewn about, and Rhys flinches when his shoe sinks into something sticky and gross.

Looking down, Rhys inhales shakily and exhales out his mouth and moves his food away. He swallows the lump that forms in his throat at the sight of organ he has just stepped on, mashed up beyond repair, and he shakes his head and steps around it.

The less time he spends freaking out over everything, the better; when he releases all this footage to the world, he is going to _nail_ Vasquez for this, takedown Hyperion, and hopefully be a rich motherfucker at the end of all this.

He’s dealt with too much tragedy in his few hours here to not be compensated for all this, and the first thing Rhys is asking for is proper therapy. He freezes when he hears someone panicking, murmuring over and over about someone coming, and Rhys bolts into an open room and slides under one of the beds.

Curling up as best he can in the cramped position, Rhys turns his eye and light off and watches as someone runs and slips into the room he’s in. He can’t make out who the person is, but that doesn’t matter when he starts to hear singing.

He tries to fit himself even further into the bed, ignoring the aches in his legs at the awfully uncomfortable position he’s in, and trembles as he watches the poor soul that can’t seem to find a place to hide just _freezes_ up.

Everything seems to slow down then and even Rhys can see the King from where he’s hiding. His presence is palpable even from a great distance away and the anxiety that brews in his stomach is no doubt because the King’s dragging knife can be heard right outside. The other anxious mess in the room just falls on his ass and trembles as the King steps into the room and squats before him.

“Heeeyaaa kiddo,” he sings, and Rhys tries to breathe slowly to calm his hammering heart. Even though he doesn’t know how, he’s sure the man can hear Rhys’s thoughts and heartbeat—

“Sit here and be a good boy.” Jack – the King – says and he pets the sobbing man. He pushes him to the side roughly, and Rhys pales. “I smell… ah, I smell the _dedication_ of a very, _very_ new blood.”

_Oh no._

At that, Rhys scrambles. He rushes as quickly as he can out from under the bed, tries not to trip over the blood or either of the men in the room, and Rhys’s heartbeat and rushing blood is drowning out Jack’s laugh as he gives chase.

 _‘Shit, shit, shit, I don’t remember where to go.’_ Rhys thinks and he holds back the urge to look behind him to see whether or not the hulking brute of an ex-CEO is chasing after him or not. He can barely hear his laughter, so that means he’s _still_ on Rhys’s tail. _‘Shit, shit, shit!’_

His hands slap against an obstacle in his path in his panicked state, one that he forgot, and he looks around in utter panic for a way to get away. He turns around and breathes heavily, eyes darting around as he tries to find something – anything – and his eyes fall on a broken-off pipe nearby. Looking up to see the Handsome King about the lunge at him, Rhys stumbles over to grab the pipe and he slams into Jack’s side when he gets close enough.

There’s a loud cry of pain from the King, and then he’s grabbing at Rhys’s pipe and he lets go before he can grab hold of one of his hands. He pushes as hard as he can against the king and slips past him, his shoes clacking loudly against the dirty floor, and Rhys jumps over bodies, over blood and piss, in his haste to escape.

His body screams with the adrenaline of trying to get away and Rhys wants to shriek when his muscles start to strain and hurt with each movement. His breath is starting to come out in short bursts and Rhys buries his mouth in his sleeve and coughs as the dehydration catches up to him.

Damn it—he needs to hide somewhere, he needs to—

The vents! Maybe he can find someplace with the vents and hide there. But where—shit, he can’t remember where the vents are. He looks over his shoulder to try and see if he can find Jack anywhere, and Rhys calms considerably when he sees that the King is nowhere in sight. He presses his back against a wall and slides down, trying to stifle his coughs into his sleeve, and Rhys pinches his eyes shut as he tries to remember the layout.

He needs to remember—the King _will_ find him, he knows he will, and Rhys needs to try and avoid that for as long as possible. The man is as bloodthirsty as the rest of the people here or—or maybe he’s worse. He’s probably much, much worse than everyone else here.

Swallowing to try and soothe his burning, dry throat, Rhys trembles in place and tries not to sob. The breakdowns can wait until he’s outside, in the beautiful, beautiful fresh air and safe from this fake-asylum meant to torture than to help.

Then—then he’ll expose this place for what it’s worth, and he’ll be free and famous and compensated for this whole mess and Assquez will be in jail. He’ll get to kiss Yvette and Vaughn and hug them both and be safe and—

“You know,” Jack yells, his voice echoing in Rhys’s ears and he sits up, “it’s not – _nice_ – to run from me! When all I want is to talk and – _finally_ have some conversation, sweetheart. Can’t fault a man for wanting to chat in a place like this, huh? Dirty move, too! Using a pipe on me! Seriously, cupcake, come out wherever the _hell_ you are before daddy gets mad!”

Rhys bolts into the nearest room and fumbles to open the locker before he slams it shut. He slides down, trying to hide his face as best he can, and Rhys winces at the cramps that are starting to rear their ugly damn heads.

Why? _Why_ did this have to happen now? How much does god seem to hate him that the moment Rhys starts making progress he takes it all away? If Jack didn’t show up, Rhys is sure he could’ve escaped by now. Maybe—maybe not, but at least Rhys is sure he will have made some progress to getting out of here.

This place is one giant puzzle full of murderous, disgusting insects that feast on corpses like maggots; unlike maggots, however, they eat away at the bone too and laugh with crunching white in their mouth.

He can still hear Jack’s voice from far away, and he’s certain that the man doesn’t know he’s here. But how did he—how did he know Rhys was in the room in the first place? Did he see him? Rhys doesn’t know—he didn’t… he didn’t catch Jack seeing him. Maybe he didn’t see him?

… Did he… actually smell Rhys out? Like some sort of – some sort of bloodhound? Bile rises up to his throat and Rhys struggles to swallow it down. It’ll do him no good to vomit all over himself right now—he’ll… he’ll save it for outside. Or at least for when the King isn’t hounding him.

Rhys jolts when he hears Jack yell again. “Seriously, where are you?! I’m _terribly_ lonely down here! Nothing but assholes and bastards for _days and days!_ All of them ungrateful, too! I did so much for them—now, darling, daddy’s being quite mean, and he _understands_ that but daddy can’t help it when you’re just running all around!”

He presses his hand to his mouth and tries not to make any noise. He closes his eyes and breathes in and out deeply, slowly, to try and quiet his breathing as well. He listens to Jack shout for a bit longer—sometimes, he sounds nearer and sometimes he sounds far away, and Rhys thinks he’s going to be safe.

Leaning his head back, Rhys lets it bump against the wall of the locker and he keeps his eyes shut. Everything in his body is burning, and fatigue is making itself known now that the adrenaline has started to ebb away. Jack keeps yelling, rage slips into sweetness before it rises up into irrational anger; over and over again, it keeps happening and Rhys lets that lull him into an easy state.

Jack can’t find him. He can’t. He’d have to search the entire floor-

He hears faltering footsteps near where he is and all the ease drains out of him. With wide eyes, Rhys tries not to let anything slip out of him. Not a single _peep._ Even one mistake and—

 _‘Don’t think about that.’_ Rhys chastises himself, and instead tries to focus on the thoughts of Vaughn. He tries to think about Yvette, and the one time she tries to cook for them and instead it ends with the kitchen dirty and in ruins. He thinks about Vaughn and how they’ll play on his nifty watch. He thinks about—

“My darling,” Jack coos, breaking his strain of thought, “you smell so scared.” He can’t tell if—if the King is mocking him, but Rhys is not able to breathe right now. His eyes are wide, wider than they’ve ever been, and he hears the only door to the room click shut. “It’s a… _nice_ smell, honey, you know that?” Jack’s purring out to no one, at least Rhys hopes he’s just trying to scare air, trying to scare him out and he’s not—he’s not going to fall for the bait.

His heels clack too loudly on the floor and the sound comes to a stop right in front of him. There’s a loud slam against the locker and Rhys, idiot he is, suddenly stands up and bangs against the locker and Jack laughs. “There you are!” Jack crows in victory, and Rhys stares at the grinning, scarred face through the small locker openings. “I was hoping you’d be in here,” Jack says, “because sweetheart, oh sweetheart…”

He lifts a lock up, brings up to Rhys’s view, and the world comes to a total stop. Jack doesn’t say anything else as he snaps the lock onto the locker, and he leaves to open the door before he’s—

Jack is _lifting_ the locker up with Rhys in it, and the only sound of exertion he makes is a simple grunt as he picks it up. “I haven’t had someone like you come here in such a long time,” Jack says, “even if you’re not that talkative—well, I’m sure my charms’ll make you open up, huh?”

Rhys closes his eyes and presses his face to his hands because this is all a damn dream. This is all a dre- no, no, a nightmare. This isn’t happening. This _can’t_ be happening. “You’re one tough crowd, kiddo. My face ain’t _that_ bad; I mean, I **_am_** the Handsome King after all.”

 _‘This is happening.’_ Rhys chokes on a sob, and the King is shushing him. He keeps talking and Rhys isn’t paying any attention to him. He sobs and coughs; the cough sounds raw and rough, and the King tsks. “Haven’t drank any water? Luckily for you, I know a place with a _clean_ water source, and I’m gonna take care of ya.”

Then, Jack puts him and his face pops into view with a big grin. “Like my queen.” Rhys blanches when he hears that. “Oh, you’ll love it—the King and his Queen; sounds nice, doesn’t it? Of course it does.” Jack’s out of view again, and he’s picking the locker up one more time and taking him away. “I’ve been wanting someone like you for so damn long. All pretty, and leggy to boot!”

“I’ve taken up to new hobbies here,” Jack sings, “and I’m sure you’ll like the dresses I’ve made for you. I’d never make my Sheriff wear ‘em; she’s not the type to be all _political_ and stuff, y’know? Prefers killing and hunting, like me.”

“But you?” Jack laughs. “Nothing hunter about you. I’ll make you a gorgeous throne every time, and you’ll sit on it like the Queen I’ve always wanted.”

Rhys can only cry in response; tears stream down his face and he hiccups as his hands curl in front of him. How could this—how could—

“Shhh.” Jack hushes. “I’ll take care of ya, and you’ll tell me your name, won’t you sweetheart?” Rhys tries to sob out a no, but all he can do is hiccup and try not to wail. “Eh, not now then. Maybe later? I’ll give ya a kiss if it makes you feel better… after we’ve got you all settled in!”

Jack sighs then, reserved and sad. “If you didn’t run, I would’ve have been forced to put you in your temporary throne for now—it’ll be boring just sitting in place.” Rhys freezes. Is he—is he going to keep Rhys chained up? “But when you’ve been a good boy for daddy, I’ll let you free, huh? _Huh?_ Aren’t I so damn nice?”

Rhys doesn’t say anything, but Jack laughs all the same and coos at him. He shushes Rhys when he finally can’t hold the wail in anymore and he wants to disappear from Jack forever. This is a mistake—this is a really bad nightmare, this whole thing has been a bad nightmare from the start and he’s just—

He’s flailing in bed and Yvette is going to wake him up and hug him close, and Vaughn is going to hold his hand and kiss his tears away.

In the end, this is all just one big nightmare. It has to be.

Rhys isn’t going to be the queen of anything. He isn’t. _He isn’t._


End file.
